From "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam"

LXXI

The Finger writes, and, having writ,

Allows you to read your obit;

Doom gives you the finger,

And says you won’t linger

Much longer in all of this shit.

LXXII

That Bowl which we call the Sky

Is a covering lid they apply,

Whereunder we crawl

To the petri dish wall,

Then run out of food and die.

LXXIII

The Big Bang determined the text

Which we read, yet still get perplexed:

The way it exploded,

Right then encoded

Whatever you’re going to do next.